


After the End

by lastincurableromantic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon compliant through s15e19, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Finale What Finale, Ignores almost all of the finale, M/M, The finale didn't happen in my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastincurableromantic/pseuds/lastincurableromantic
Summary: In the aftermath of Jack's defeat of Chuck and a world returned to normal, Dean has trouble coping with life, and particularly with the loss of Castiel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 168





	1. Carry On My Wayward Son

**Author's Note:**

> I've been considering writing a Supernatural fic for a while, but I never really had an idea I wanted to go with. And then the finale happened. In my opinion, the boys deserved better. And so this fic ended up happening. As is most my stuff, it's unbeta'd.

It wasn’t the end. 

It wasn’t.

It couldn’t be. 

After all, he and Sam had both made it out alive. 

After Jack had defeated Chuck, took away his powers and absorbed them into himself (and wasn’t that a kick, Dean still couldn’t wrap his head around it), the kid had gone about setting things right. Oh, he hadn’t brought everyone back, hadn’t brought back people whose time on Earth was legitimately up. Those he left alone, presumably in heaven (or hell, as the case may be, although neither he nor Sam were completely clear on the exact status of that section of the afterlife now. Dean was sure it was still there, still run by Rowena, but Sam wasn’t convinced, speculating that Jack may have shaken things up down there as much as he had everywhere else). But the others, the ones Chuck capriciously wiped off the Earth in his attempt to wind up “his story” as well as the ones he’d removed from game board earlier in his effort to get at the Winchesters, those Jack brought back none the wiser for their experience.

While Dean had driven back to the bunker, Sam had called everyone they knew. It seemed no one else had any memories of the past few days. Everyone he contacted was healthy and happy and completely unaware that anything unusual had happened even in the past few months.

But even though so many people had been returned, to pick up their lives where they’d left off without missing a beat, Mary Winchester was still gone. Sam said it probably was because their mother’s time was up, had been up decades earlier, and the brief time they’d had with her in recent years had simply been a bonus, a gift from Amara. It wasn’t necessarily intended to be a permanent return. Sam also said some other things as well, one of which was that he thought it might have been Mary’s choice not to come back, but Dean had no idea how he could know that. When confronted, Sam said it was just an impression he’d gotten from Jack. 

Jack hadn’t been seen since the day he’d disappeared, now a couple of months ago, but Dean knew his brother prayed to him. Despite Jack having told them he didn’t want to be worshiped, didn’t need adulation or prayers, Sam wanted to talk to him nonetheless and told Dean he occasionally felt like he received answers to his prayers in the stillness of his heart.

Sounded like a lot of crap to Dean, but who was he to say different? Although he didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, occasionally he thought he could feel Jack’s presence as well. If he concentrated, he could sense the kid sitting next to him on the sofa while he was alone watching movies in the Bunker, or riding shotgun—Miracle the dog in his lap—when Dean went out for a beer run. A couple of times he’d been tempted to say something— _hi_ , or _how’s eternity treating you_ , or maybe just _thanks for saving everyone and not being a jackass like Chuck_ —but he felt stupid talking to thin air so in the end he didn’t say anything at all. 

As the weeks had turned into months, life settled into a new routine in the bunker. Sam would meticulously cook and clean, straighten and organize. Dean would take Miracle for walks in the woods and for rides in the country in the Impala, occasionally taking breaks from both to haphazardly tidy his room and throw out empty beer bottles. And every morning they would both comb the internet for any sign of the unusual, the macabre, or unexplained gruesome deaths. Every day they would look for evidence of werewolves, vampires, wendigos or djinns. Every day they’d search for any indication that Chuck was attempting to regain his powers.

But there was nothing. No monsters, no ghosts, no ghouls. No demons. 

And no angels. 

Not even one.

(Not even one particular angel that Dean refused, absolutely refused to discuss, absolutely refused to even think about because he absolutely belonged here and he wasn’t here and it was wrong, wrong, WRONG that he wasn’t here when everyone else was back and every time he let himself think of that asshole, his goofy face, his stupid trench coat… His smile when he told Dean the source of his happiness. His pleading eyes as the empty wrapped itself around him and stole him away before Dean could say… could tell him… No, he couldn’t think about him because thinking about him invariably led to a three-day bender and a hangover that lasted until the next drunk-fest began.)

And so time went on, and the searches went on, and it eventually became apparent to both of them that Jack had done a little board clearing himself, but instead of getting rid of people, he’d gotten rid of all the monsters Sam and Dean had fought all their lives.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said one evening as he polished off a bottle of a very good Kentucky bourbon. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. I do. But I’m so… damned…”

“Bored,” Sam finished.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. Miracle climbed into his lap and began to lick his face. He petted the dog absently. “I mean, now what? Put on a suit and tie and work in a bank?”

Sam shrugged. “I could go back to school. Finally get that law degree.”

Dean made a rude noise.

“All right, all right, maybe that’s a bad idea…”

“The worst.”

“But we’ve got to do something. We can’t sit around here all day, every day, getting plastered.”

“Speak for yourself.” And Dean reached for another bottle.

For weeks after that, Sam prodded, cajoled, and finally outright nagged Dean to do something other than get drunk.

“You could, I don’t know, go on a road trip or something,” he finally suggested a couple of months later. 

They were sitting at the kitchen table nursing a couple of beers, the remains of dinner in front of them. It was the first dinner they’d had together in a while, and Sam had gone all out, making all of Dean’s favorites: T-bone steaks, baked potatoes with all the trimmings, apple pie from the bakery in town. 

Dean put his plate on the floor for Miracle to clean off. It bugged the hell out of Sam when Dean let Miracle lick the plates, but he was beyond caring today. Sam would just have to deal with it.

“Visit Jodi,” Sam continued, ignoring the dog as he grabbed the bone from Dean’s plate and settled down in a corner of the room to gnaw on it. “Or Bobby. Or Charlie. Take Miracle with you.” 

“And leave you here alone?”

“I, uh, wouldn’t be alone.”

Dean looked at him sharply. 

“C’mon, Dean. You know I’ve been seeing Eileen.”

“You have?”

Sam let out a huff of frustration. “Yes, I have. I told you that weeks… months ago. Where do you think I’ve been every weekend?”

“I don’t know. In your room, ironing?”

“Seriously, Dean?”

“All right, all right, I knew about Eileen,” he admitted. “But I didn’t know it had gotten that serious.”

“Well, it has. We’ve been seeing each other for a while. Close to a year in fact.” Sam paused, and got that expression on his face that said he had something to tell Dean that he’d been avoiding for a while. Probably a good long while, given how deeply he was frowning. It was why he was so crap at poker. His overly expressive face gave everything away. Sometimes Dean could even tell the exact cards in his hand by the direction his mouth turned or his eyebrow twitched. “Also…”

He didn’t continue. Dean gave him twelve seconds before prompting him.

“Also?”

“I, uh, got a job.”

They didn’t need the money, Jack had seen to that in the form of a bank account in both their names that never dropped in value, no matter how much was withdrawn, and credit cards with no limit and that never billed them. Probably a kind of back pay, Sam had guessed when he’d discovered the money, for all they’d done, and been through, over the years. It meant no more hustling people at pool halls or gambling at random poker games to scrounge enough money for gas or groceries. No more engaging in minor identity fraud with fake credit cards in order to stay at fleabag motels in the bad part of town, not that they’d had to do much of that after discovering the bunker. Still, it was a relief to always know where the next meal was coming from. Particularly after spending a big chunk of your childhood rummaging for loose change in the latest motel room in order to buy a couple of candy bars for dinner for you and your brother from the vending machine down the hall because that’s all you could afford.

“You what!” Dean demanded. His brother nodded. “Doing what?”

“Teaching.”

“Teaching,” Dean said, deadpan. 

“Yep.”

“Teaching what? The fine arts of doing laundry and cleaning toilets?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ancient Mythology and Its Impact on Contemporary Society. At Texas A&M.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.” But it made sense, in a strange sort of way. Sam had great communication skills and patience in spades, and no one knew the lore better. 

No one living, at any rate.

(No, he absolutely would not go there. He didn’t want to go on another bender so soon, not when he could still feel the buzz from the last one.)

“What about Eileen?”

“She’s coming too. We’re… getting married. Not right away, maybe in a year or two.”

Dean stared at him in shock.

“Uh, well, make sure you invite me to the wedding.”

Sam let out a huff of exasperation. “Dean, don’t be that way. Life moves on. What, did you think we’d spend the next forty years together in the bunker watching movies and getting drunk?”

“Well, yeah.” Sam looked like he was about to explode, so Dean took pity on him. “No, of course not. I knew you’d want to go and do your own thing eventually. I just didn’t expect it would be so soon.”

“It’s not that soon, Dean.”

“Maybe not.”

“You need to do something too. Move on.”

“From what?”

“You know what,” his brother said. “Seriously. You need to pull yourself together.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, no you’re not. Maybe if you talked about—”

Dean shot him a warning look. “Back off, Sammy.”

“All right. But if you ever need to talk…”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sam, since when have I ever needed to talk?”

“You know, not needing to talk and refusing to talk are two separate things.”

Dean shot him another look, one that said _drop it or else_ , and Sam did.

In the silence that followed, while he tried to wrap his brain around Sam getting an actual, paying job, let alone getting married, something suddenly occurred to him.

“If you’re gonna teach college, don’t you need a PhD or something?”

“Got one.”

“When? Where?”

“Well, according to the official transcripts, the when was 2010 and the where was Oxford.”

“Oxford… England?”

This time it was Sam who rolled his eyes. “Yes, Oxford, England.”

“You were nowhere near England in 2010.”

“Of course not.”

“So how did you get a degree from Oxford in 2010?”

“I don’t know.”

“And if you had to take a guess?”

“Well, it could have been the British Men of Letters…”

“But most of them are dead and the ones that aren’t hate our guts.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. But actually… I think it was Jack.”

Of course. Anyone who had the power to create bank accounts out of thin air (not to mention bring people back from the dead) surely could fudge a few transcripts and miracle a couple job applications.

An awkward silence fell between them.

“Listen, Dean, if you don’t want me to go…” Sam said finally.

“No. You need to go, to live your own life. You deserve it.”

Sam gave him a crooked grin. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge and handed one to Sam. 

“So if you’re off teaching and I’m off traveling, what about the bunker?”

“We’ll close it down. Just… temporarily. I’ll be... we’ll both be back.”

“Yeah, school breaks and holidays.”

He said it sarcastically, but that must have flown over Sam’s head because his brother smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah. You’ll see. It’ll be great.”

“Yeah. Great.” Dean plastered on a false smile and thought another bender was overdue.

A week later, Sam moved out. Evidently it was August or something and he needed to get settled in his new apartment before the school year started.

Where had July gone?

Hell, where had March gone?

Before he left, Sam pleaded with him one last time to get his act together. The argument that followed got so heated they almost came to blows.

“You’re going to have to deal with this sometime! He’s not—”

“Shut the hell up, Sammy!”

“Maybe it’s a good thing I’m going! I can’t watch you destroy yourself anymore.”

“Well, no one asked you to!”

Sam scoffed. “No, you know what? If you want to drink yourself into a stupor for the rest of your life, go right ahead. But just ask yourself one thing: would he want you to destroy your life after he gave his trying to save it?”

With that, Sam left, slamming the door behind him.

Dean stood there in silence, frozen in place, trying not to think, trying not to feel, trying not to hurt…

Trying not to remember.

“Damn it,” he said finally. “I need a drink.”

With Sam gone, the bunker seemed emptier than when they’d first discovered it disused and abandoned for decades. Dean’s boots echoed over-loud in the corridors; the hum of the lights was deafening without the tap-tap-tap of Sam’s fingers on the keyboard of his laptop. 

Weeks would go by without Dean leaving the bunker, without seeing another living being outside Miracle. Sam called and texted every couple of days, sometimes more often, but he never responded. Finally, after receiving half a dozen texts from Sam over the course of an hour— _How’re you doing?_ and _I’m just checking to see if you’re okay, haven’t heard from you in a while_ and _If there’s anything I can do for you just let me know._ And on and on and on—he turned off his cell phone and shoved it in a drawer. Afterwards, he went and got another beer and numbed his brain with alcohol and the Cartoon Network.

It was November when Dean finally gave in and admitted Sam was right. He needed to pull himself together. 

It had been a couple of weeks since his last beer run, a couple of months since Sam had left, a year since Chuck’s defeat.

A year since he’d last seen…

No. It wasn’t as painful as it had been at first, but he still couldn’t bear to think about a soft voice and pleading eyes, couldn’t say the name, not even in his head.

Even after a year, he still dreamed about him, dreamed of the one who gave his life to save his sorry ass, dreamed of the blackness of angel hell surrounding him, absorbing him into itself. Invariably he’d wake up in a cold sweat, body shaking and face damp from tears he couldn’t shed while awake.

In the end, that’s what did it. The realization that he would've hated how much Dean’d let himself fall apart, how much it would have hurt him to see him this way.

He rubbed a hand along his jaw, now beginning to sport what would be an impressive beard if he let it continue to grow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shaved. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d showered. After giving it some thought, he guessed it was before his last trip to town. He lifted up the collar of his tee and sniffed. And grimaced. A while before, probably. 

Well, that explained the looks everybody had given him at the grocery store.

It was time. Time to sober up. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself. Time to move on.

He wrinkled his nose. And definitely time for a shower.

A couple of hours later, showered, shaved, and mostly sober, he shoved the last of his clean clothes, left over from when Sam had still been doing the laundry, into a large, canvas duffel bag. Lying at the head of the bed, muzzle resting on his front paws, Miracle watched him from under long shaggy eyebrows.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m not leaving you. We’re going on a road trip. Gonna check out Sam’s new digs. Maybe stay with Bobby for a while. You’ll like Bobby. You wouldn’t know by looking at him, but he makes fantastic peanut butter cookies.”

Miracle lifted his head hopefully and wagged his tail, a single thud against the headboard.

Shouldering his bag, Dean took one last look around the room. Other than a few weapons hanging on the wall, there was nothing there that couldn’t easily be replaced. Certainly nothing worth taking. And with all the monsters gone, he didn’t even need the weapons. 

With a whistle for the dog, he jerked his head towards the bedroom door.

He had thought it would be hard, tidying up, shutting everything down, and turning off the lights, not knowing when, or even if, he’d be back. But it wasn’t. The bunker symbolized a different time in his life, a time that was now over. And so, with Miracle at his heels, Dean turned off the last breaker and headed out.

Outside, the air held the bite of late autumn. As he locked up, a sudden gust of wind blew through the trees, shaking leaves off branches and picking up others from the ground. They swirled in the air for a moment before coming to rest again on the forest floor.

The cold cut straight through his leather jacket. He shivered.

“At least it’ll be warmer in Texas,” he said to no one.

Baby was already gassed up and ready to go, parked where Dean had left her last, outside near the entrance to the bunker because he couldn’t be bothered to park her inside after his last grocery/pizza/beer run. She was looking a little run-down, windshield covered with fallen leaves, her normally glossy paint dull and spattered with caked-on mud.

Miracle trotted over to the car door, and for the first time Dean noticed the dog was filthy as well, his coat matted and as muddy as the fenders of the Impala. He felt a wave of guilt over his neglect of them both.

“I’m gonna do better by you. Both of you. I swear.”

Miracle wagged. 

Out of force of habit more than anything else, Dean turned back to make sure the door was secure. He yanked on the handle. As expected, the door didn’t budge.

Then he felt a familiar prickle between his shoulder blades. In one smooth movement, honed to perfection through a lifetime of hunting, he let the duffel bag slide to the ground and whirled around, knife in hand.

And froze. 

“Hello, Dean.”


	2. There'll Be Peace When You Are Done

The knife clattered as it landed on the cement stoop. Dean staggered backwards until his back hit the bunker’s door, its heavy metal helping to hold him up as his knees weakened.

“ _Cas_?”

Dean had never seen a sight more heartbreakingly beautiful in his whole life. It was likely a trick of the light, of the sun setting behind him, but the very air around Castiel was filled with a soft, golden hew. In that moment, he looked every inch the angelic being he was. Dean half-expected to see the angel unfurl his black, ethereal wings, allowing a tiny fraction of his otherworldly power to be on display, but he didn't.

The glow faded, and Cas returned to his normal, rather prosaic appearance: rumpled trench coat, crooked tie and all.

But whether cloaked in angelic glory or human in aspect, he was still beautiful.

Dean stared at him, slack-jawed, drinking in the sight of him standing at the bottom of the stairs outside the bunker, until he realized his mouth was drying out from hanging open so long. He snapped it shut.

“Sorry I’m late,” Castiel said.

“ _Late_?” Dean asked incredulously. The word held more than a tinge of hysteria. “Sorry you’re _late_? I thought you were dead. I thought you were going to be in the Empty for eternity.”

“I thought so too. But Jack had… other plans.”

“Other plans. Right…” Dean’s voice trailed off. He paused for a moment, trying to regain his composure. “I thought I was never going to see you again.” Despite his best efforts, his voice cracked. He swallowed hard, forcing down the swirl of emotions that threatened to drown him.

“I thought I would never be seen again.” Castiel said the words in his typical deadpan way, but an expression that Dean couldn’t interpret flitted across his face and then was gone. If Dean hadn’t known him so well, he might have—probably would have—missed it.

“Well, you look good, particularly for someone who’s been in angel hell.”

“You look… good too.”

“Liar. I look like crap and I know it.”

“Well, you have lost some weight, and you do look a little pale,” Castiel allowed. And then he frowned. “And your hair is long enough that you’re beginning to look like Sam.”

Dean’s hand flew to his head. He laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah. A haircut is definitely on my to do list.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side, looking puzzled. “Human hair typically grows at the rate of half an inch a month, and your hair is at least a couple of inches longer…” A look of dismay spread across the angel’s face. “Dean, I’m so sorry. I wanted to be here sooner, but…”

“But?”

“We were a little busy.”

“ _Busy_? _You were a little_ _busy_? You’ve been gone for a year, Cas. All this time I thought you were dead, and you were too busy to let me know you were okay? Too busy to pop down from whatever the hell you were doing and let me know you were all right? Too busy to call me and say, ‘Hey, managed to escape from the Empty after all, I’ll stop by as soon as I can’? I don’t know whether to hug you or punch you.”

“A year?” Castiel asked, visibly stricken. “I had no idea it had been that long. I should have called.”

“Damn straight you should have called!”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“You’re sorry.” Dean, a mass of conflicting emotions, shook his head in disbelief. A part of him was furious, grief turned to anger over not knowing Cas was okay _for a year_ , but that was drowned out by the overwhelming relief that he _was_ okay, and the sheer joy that he was here, standing in front of him.

“For what it’s worth,” Castiel said. “If I get a vote, I’d prefer the hug over the punch.”

Dean sighed. Despite the threat, he didn’t really want to punch him. “You got it, buddy.”

He stepped forward and enveloped the angel in his arms. As Cas hugged back, squeezing tightly and burying his face in his neck, Dean felt something he couldn’t name that had been knotted up tight deep in his soul loosen, then break free.

Castiel’s whole body shook, clearly overwhelmed at their reunion as well. Dean patted his back awkwardly. “It’s okay. It’s all right. You’re here now.”

Cas nodded.

He was about to pull away when Castiel’s stomach growled. Loudly. Dean laughed at the ludicrousness of the timing of it. And then wondered at it. He didn’t remember ever hearing Cas’s stomach growl before. As an angel, although he could eat and drink and even did so on rare occasions, he didn’t really need to like humans did.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” Cas told him. He sounded surprised. “You?”

“I could eat.”

There was almost no food left in the bunker—and nothing any normal person would consider edible—so eating meant a trip into nearby Lebanon. After reluctantly ruling out dinner in the café in his mind—after months of eating leftover MREs (stored from who knows when by who knows who) and whatever canned goods were left over from Sam’s last grocery trip, Dean really craved a double cheeseburger—he decided to order a couple of pizzas. He didn’t want to leave Miracle behind in the bunker, but he also didn’t want to leave Miracle in the Impala while eating in the café either, and pizzas just plain traveled better than burgers. Not to mention he and Cas needed to talk, and he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to do it in a public place like a restaurant.

“We’ll have to go to town and get something,” he told Castiel as he picked up his knife and stowed it away. “I haven’t got anything here.” Then he picked up his duffel bag and hoisted it over his shoulder.

“Were you going somewhere?” Castiel asked, looking pointedly at the bag.

“Road trip. No place special.”

As Dean pulled out his cell phone to place an order, Castiel turned around. And stopped short.

Miracle was standing at the top of the stairs, whining and wagging so hard he looked like he was going to fall over.

A look of wonder came over Cas’s face.

“You have a dog,” he said as he climbed the stairs, his voice filled with awe.

“Yeah, uh, that’s Miracle, although to be honest, I don’t know if I have him or he has me.”

“Miracle. He’s clearly well named.” Castiel leaned down and scratched the dog behind the ears.

“Never pegged you as an animal lover, Cas,” Dean said.

“I wasn’t, not until I saw this beautiful boy.”

As Castiel walked around the car, Dean threw his duffel bag into the back seat and gestured to Miracle to get in. Instead, Miracle followed Castiel and jumped in the front seat after him. He settled himself on Castiel’s lap. Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Okay,” he said as he slammed the back door and got into the driver’s seat.

Dean shot them both a look as the love fest between angel and dog continued on the drive to town. Then he grinned.

Cas was back. For the first time in a very long time, things felt right. Life felt normal. Having never done normal in his life, he wasn’t exactly sure what normal was supposed to feel like, but he suspected this was it.

And if it wasn’t, he’d take it anyway.

“Anyway, when you said you were busy…” Dean began.

“So where did you get him?” Castiel interrupted.

Dean frowned. Then shrugged. “Okay, if that’s where you want to start…”

Dean began to tell him about finding the dog when everyone else on the planet had disappeared and everything went to hell in a handbasket. He quickly suspected Cas wasn’t listening.

“Who’s a good dog?” Castiel said to Miracle, holding the dog’s face in his hands. “Who’s a good dog?”

Dean suddenly felt like a third wheel. “Do you two want to be alone?”

Both dog and angel ignored him.

Dean gave Cas a sideways glance. “Anyway, after that the sky turned purple and a shuttlecraft from the Starship Enterprise landed and dropped him off. So he’s not really a dog, he’s an emissary from the planet Tatooine sent here to prevent a war with the Daleks, and he needs some equipment from the bunker so that he can phone home.”

“Who’s a good emissary?” Castiel said, and Miracle licked his face. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Traitor,” Dean said under his breath, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he meant Miracle or Castiel.

Maybe both.

A couple of more times on the trip into town, Dean tried to ask where Cas had been in the past year, but each time the angel had quickly shifted the subject to something else, to ask where Sam was or how Bobby was doing. Even to remark on the weather. He was clearly trying to avoid the subject and attempting to appear like he wasn’t avoiding it. And he was doing a piss-poor job at it.

Okay, if that’s how he wanted to play it, fine. He’d get it out of him eventually.

Once in town, Dean parked in front of the grocery store and walked across the street to the pizzeria. When he got back, Castiel was in the store, deliberating over the relative merits of apple and cherry pie as he tried to decide which to buy.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean asked, putting beer and dog food on the counter in front of the cashier. “Both.”

They stowed the food in the trunk of the car, next to the pizza and far away from a perpetually hungry dog. Then Dean tried, and failed, several times to get Miracle in the back of the car; with one frown at the dog, Castiel managed to get Miracle in the back seat.

“Seriously?” Dean muttered as he got back in the car.

On the ride back to the bunker, Dean again tried to broach the subject of how Castiel had escaped the Empty and what he’d been doing since then.

“Cas…”

“So if I’ve been gone for a year, what have you been doing all this time?”

Dean pointedly concentrated on the road ahead of them.

“Oh, you know, this and that,” he said evasively. “Not really much going on this past year. Nothing actually. Not even a whisper of a job. Been kind of like a vacation. Although since I’ve never really been on a vacation, I can’t be sure. But it’s been great. Can’t complain.”

Hoping Castiel hadn’t been able to tell he’d been lying through his teeth, Dean glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

Cas had an odd look on his face.

Having no clue as to what was going on in the angel’s mind and quickly deciding he wouldn’t be able to figure it out even if he tried, Dean began again.

“So, Cas, when you said you were busy…”

“Dean, what happened with Chuck after Jack took away his powers? Jack never told me.”

“Okay, what gives? Why won’t you talk about it?” Dean demanded.

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever the hell it is that you don’t want to talk about!”

Castiel turned away from him to stare out the passenger window.

“It’s… Well, it’s… complicated.”

“What’s complicated? What you don’t want to talk about, or the reason you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Both,” Castiel said shortly.

Dean groaned. Getting information out of Castiel sometimes was like pulling teeth. “I don’t get it. How complicated could it be?”

“Very.” He turned and looked Dean in the eye. “I’ll tell you. I promise. But later.” Then he turned back to the window. He let out a deep sigh. “Let’s have dinner first.”

Out of force of habit rather than anything else, they ate in the kitchen. Dean did most of the talking, periodically slipping bits of cheese pizza under the table to Miracle. After he’d caught Cas up, having told him in detail about what had happened from the time the Empty had taken him to Jack’s final defeat of Chuck, the conversation lulled.

While Dean rattled on—about Sam’s job and his engagement to Eileen, what Bobby, Jodi and Charlie were doing, and even, unable to think of anything better, some of the recent plotlines of TV shows—trying to fill the uncomfortable silence that would fall every time he stopped talking, Castiel ate like a starving man, like he’d never eaten before in his life and was worried he’d never have a chance to again.

“Hey, slow down there, buddy,” Dean said finally as Cas took his third slice of pie. He’d already eaten a whole pizza by himself and downed several beers. “You eat that much, you’re gonna make yourself sick.” Then Dean frowned. “I must be getting old. I sound like Sam.”

Castiel reluctantly put his fork down and pushed the plate away from him.

“Okay, Cas, we’ve fed the dog, we’ve had dinner. Time to talk.”

When Castiel didn’t answer immediately, Dean leaned back in his chair and let out an irritated sigh.

“Come on, man, you’ve got to work with me here. You know, all evening I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell’s going on with you, but honestly, I’ve got nothing. I haven’t got a clue.”

“Well, Dean…” Castiel began.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, I think I’ve got it!” Dean interrupted as an idea came to him out of nowhere. “Is it monsters? It’s monsters, right?” He jumped to his feet, excited at the thought. “There are monsters somewhere, and Jack sent you to help us deal with them. Although if it’s monsters, I don’t know why you wouldn’t tell me about it right away.”

“Dean, it’s not monsters.”

“No?”

“No. It’s… the opposite of monsters.”

“What the hell’s the opposite of monsters? Rainbow unicorns? No,” he answered himself, “we’ve run into some badass unicorns that would make werewolves look like Golden Retriever puppies. Pixies? Maybe. But they can be nasty little buggers too.”

“Dean…”

Dean clapped his hands together and grinned. “Well, whatever it is, we can deal with it. Be like old times.”

“Dean…”

“I’ll call Sam… after all, he’s the lore expert. Probably has all kinds of resources in the college that we’ve never even heard of. And if we need more hands-on help, we can call Bobby.”

“Dean! It’s not monsters, it’s not unicorns, it’s not pixies, it’s not water sprites or possessed teddy bears or one-eyed, one-horned flying purple people eaters! It’s nothing like that!” Castiel took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “Dean, please, sit down.”

Dean sat.

“Jack had intended to leave the world alone,” Cas said without preamble. “He wanted humans to have a chance to live life on their own, to succeed or fail based on human choices, not because of any divine script they were supposed to follow. He wanted to give them true free will.

“But he soon found out that wasn’t possible, or at least not without a lot of intervention first. In order to make his story more interesting, at least in his own mind, Chuck had created a bunch of traps and obstacles. Supernatural powers. Demon possession. Monsters. Things that would force humans into certain proscribed storylines. If humanity was going to have a chance to go it alone and have honest-to-goodness free will to make their own choices, good or bad, without supernatural influence, Jack had to get rid of them.”

“Sam and I thought that the monsters might be gone.”

“They are. Now. But it took a lot of work to make that happen, even for Jack. He needed help. So he pulled me from the Empty.”

“He pulled you from the Empty just because he needed an assistant?”

Castiel shook his head. “It had been Jack’s plan to release me from the Empty as soon as he found out about my bargain. But he also wanted help from a supernatural being he trusted, one who knew how things were before Chuck’s defeat and who had ideas on how to make things better. Someone who had spent a lot of time around humans already. And who cared about them as much as he did.”

“You.”

“Me. Not that he had much of a selection to choose from.”

“I thought God had no power over the Empty.”

“Chuck didn’t, not before he merged with Amara. But after Jack absorbed Chuck’s powers, Jack’s power was triple what Chuck’s was.”

“He had Chuck’s, Amara’s, and his own,” Dean said, nodding. “He was a triple threat.”

“He had more than enough power to confront the Empty and free me.”

“So he got you released from the Empty and the two of you got rid of all the monsters.”

“That, and we did a few other things as well,” Castiel told him. “For instance, he wanted to remake heaven. Make it a true reward. He tore down the walls so people could spend eternity with their loved ones, rather than spend it alone where all they did was relive pleasant memories in what amounted to elaborate jail cells.”

“Is that where my mom is?” Dean asked quietly. “In Jack’s new heaven?”

“Yes. Mary’s in heaven. With your dad. Jack gave her the option to return to Earth, but she didn’t want to leave your father again. She loved him too much to willingly be apart from him again.”

“Sam said that he thought it was Mom’s choice.”

“He was right.”

For a moment, Dean was quiet, processing everything in his mind. “So that’s what took so long? Monster hunting and rebuilding heaven?”

“Yes and no. Time passes differently in heaven than it does on Earth,” Castiel told him. “I honestly thought I had only been gone a matter of days, a week at most. I didn’t realize it had been a year until you told me. I don’t know why Jack didn’t send me back sooner, but I’m sure he had his reasons.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“He had his _reasons_.” Jack’s reasons, whatever the hell they were, had kept them apart for a year. Grimacing, Dean rubbed the center of his forehead vigorously, trying to head off the massive headache that was threatening to develop. “So if the kid is redoing heaven, is he redoing hell too?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t a part of that. I believe he’s sealing it off again. I know he intends that the denizens of hell would never be able to walk the Earth again.”

“And the Empty?”

“I don’t know. He certainly has enough power to now, but that doesn’t mean he will. Either way, it no longer concerns me.”

“What do you mean, it ‘no longer concerns’ you? Did he give you a ‘get out of angel hell free’ card or something?”

Castiel cocked his head to the side and stared at him quizzically. After a moment, he shook his head, clearly giving up trying to understand the reference.

“No. It’s just the Empty was only designed for _angels_.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So when I die, I won’t be going there.”

From the expression on his face, Castiel clearly thought he’d said something profound. But Dean’d be damned if he could figure it out. Or why Cas had been so reluctant to talk about it.

“Okay, so the kid decided to fix Earth and redo heaven and hell. What’s so complicated about that?”

“There’s more to it than that.” Castiel stood up and began to pace. “Dean, this whole experience has changed me.”

“Changed me too. I think it’s changed all of us.”

“No, I mean, it’s really changed me. Jack _changed_ me.”

“Okay. So, he changed you. You’re still you, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I am.”

Dean let out a huff of frustration. “Then I still don’t know what the problem is.”

“I’m messing this up,” Castiel muttered, shaking his head. “I really thought Sam would be here. How do I… I should just…”

Castiel stopped abruptly in his tracks and turned to face Dean, jaw clenched and brow furrowed, like he was going into battle and was determined to win.

He removed his suit jacket and laid it on top of his trench coat, currently draped across the kitchen counter next to the open, half-empty pizza boxes.

He sat back down opposite Dean and pushed the dirty dishes out of the way.

“Give me your knife,” Castiel ordered quietly as he undid the cuff on his left sleeve.

“What? Why?”

“Because a butter knife isn’t sharp enough.”

Bemused, Dean pulled out the knife and presented it to him, handle first.

Castiel pulled up his sleeve. Before Dean realized what he intended to do, Castiel took the knife and made a long, shallow cut across his forearm.

“What the hell, Cas!” Dean exclaimed, grabbing the knife away from him.

“Look,” Castiel ordered.

Dean looked down, expecting to see a glowing line of angel grace emerging from the cut on Cas’s arm. Instead, a thin red line of blood formed at the wound.

“Sonofabitch.”


	3. Lay Your Weary Head To Rest

Dean stared at the blood beginning to well up from the cut on Castiel’s arm, trying to process what he was seeing. Then he came back to his senses. He rushed to the cabinet, and after searching through several drawers, managed to find a clean dish towel.

“I’m human now,” Cas told him as Dean took the towel and put pressure on the wound. 

“Yeah, got that. When did that happen?”

“When he sent me here.”

Dean lifted a corner of the towel. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped. “Hold this down a minute. Put a lot of pressure on it.”

As Castiel pressed the towel down on the wound, Dean rushed from the room. He returned with a small first aid kit.

Dean gently lifted the towel. He frowned. “It’s still bleeding.” 

“It is a little deeper than I meant it to be.” 

“You’re lucky you don’t need stitches. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I was trying to tell you but you weren’t understanding so I needed to demonstrate it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Did it ever just occur to you to say, ‘Dean, I’m human now’? Four words, and no risk of infection.” 

Dean led Castiel to the sink, where he washed his hands and Cas’s arm. Then he poured hydrogen peroxide over the cut. 

Castiel winced, but Dean had no sympathy and told him so as they returned to the table.

“Maybe you won’t do anything this stupid again,” he said as he began to bandage up the wound. For someone without any formal medical training, he’d gotten very good at dressing wounds over the years. It was basically one of the job requirements for a hunter. “If you really are human…”

“Which I am,” Castiel interjected.

“Then you’ve got to think of things like that.”

“Does it always hurt like this when you cut yourself?”

“Short answer, yes. Why? Didn’t it hurt when you were an angel?”

“Yes, but not like this. It felt… different,” Castiel said thoughtfully. Then he shook his head. “It’s hard to explain.”

Dean sat back in his chair.

“Okay, if you’re human…” he began.

“And I am…” Castiel insisted.

“And I’m not denying it. The real question is, why are you human? Did Jack cast you out?”

“Jack didn’t want any more angels, and certainly not ones created by Chuck. Not that there were any left other than me. After a while, he decided he needed more help to accomplish all he wanted to do, so he made his own. He’s still not sure what to call them, so for the time being he just calls them helpers. Because that’s what they do. Help him.”

“Excuse me if I don’t give a crap about Jack’s staffing problems,” Dean snapped. “You haven’t answered my question. Did he cast you out?”

“No. I could have stayed in heaven if I’d wanted to. But there were… other considerations.”

“Other considerations?” 

“Do you know how many times today you’ve repeated the exact words I’ve said?” 

“No, and I don’t want to know. But if I have been, maybe it’s because your words aren’t making any sense,” Dean snapped. “What kind of other considerations?”

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean muttered with a shake of his head. He let out a heavy sigh. He wanted to argue with him, to yell at him for not being more forthcoming. At the same time, he didn’t want to argue with him, not so soon after getting him back. 

“Listen, you’ve been human before. We’ll just contact Jack somehow and get him to give you your grace back.”

Castiel shook his head.

“He won’t do that.”

“Listen, I don’t care if he’s God with a big G or a little g. He can’t do this to you. And if he won’t give you your grace back… God or no God, I’ll kick his ass.”

“Dean, angel grace wouldn’t change me back, not like before. I’m not human because I don’t have my grace. Jack fundamentally changed my soul. I’m no longer an angel. I’m human because… I’m human.”

“Well, if he changed you into a human, he can change you back.”

“Dean, you don’t understand! I don’t want him to! I asked him to change me!”

The admission shocked Dean into silence. For several long moments the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

“Why would you do that?” he finally asked.

“I told you. Jack didn’t want any more supernatural influences on Earth. I couldn’t be here if I was still an angel.”

Dean stared at him, trying to put all the pieces together but feeling like he was missing a key one smack dab in the middle that would make it all make sense.

And then… all the puzzle pieces fell into place and he understood.

Dean knew he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, that had always been Sam, but he always got there eventually.

Jack not allowing anything supernatural on Earth.

Castiel asking Jack to make him human.

Castiel telling him that his mom loved his dad so much that she didn’t want to be separated from him any longer.

…Cas telling Dean he loved him just before the Empty took him.

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head, scoffing at his own stupidity as the truth smacked him across the face.

“You did this for me.” It wasn’t a question. “You came back to Earth for me. And you had to be human to do it. This is all about what you said to me before…” 

His voice trailed off. 

Dean put his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands, unable to look at Castiel, because he knew if he did, he’d lose what little emotional control he had left.

No one had ever done anything even remotely similar for him. No one had ever loved him that much, not his dad, not his mom, probably not even Sam.

And he did not deserve it.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m not asking anything of you.”

“I don’t understand. Why would I…”

And then the next penny dropped.

Castiel thought he didn’t… 

And then Dean remembered the conversation they’d had in the car, and the odd look on Castiel’s face when Dean had told him how great the last year had been.

The year Cas had been gone. And Dean had told him it had been great.

He now knew the look on Cas’s face had been a look of hurt.

There was being dumb, and then there was this. This was on a whole other level. This was a prize-winning level of stupidity. If they passed out metals for stupidity at the Olympics, he would have won the gold.

But even though he was a freaking idiot, he still knew what was coming next.

“Because you told me you thought of me as a brother,” Cas told him. “And my feelings for you are far from brotherly.” 

Dean shook his head. And there it was, the elephant in the room. 

An elephant that had been there so long it had moss growing on it.

It was also, if you wanted to mix your metaphors, the proverbial fork in the road.

He looked up. Castiel was standing next to the counter: 5 o’clock shadow, tie askew, shirt rumpled with one shirt sleeve still rolled up and the bandage that covered the evidence of what he had done, what he had become, on full display on his forearm. 

He had to look away, because looking at him was so overwhelming.

He could feel Castiel watching him. And waiting.

Waiting for him to say something.

The fork in the road. 

The frigging fork in the road.

A ridiculous image of a giant silver fork standing upright in the middle of a deserted country road popped into his brain. He knew it meant something, something his subconscious was trying to get through to him, but he’d be damned if he knew what.

And then, all of a sudden, he remembered where the bizarre image came from. He even knew what it meant.

And he knew which road he wanted to take.

Which road, deep down, he’d always wanted to take.

Dean took a deep breath.

“Cas, do you know who Yogi Berra is?”

Castiel shook his head. “No…”

“Bobby used to quote him a lot, so I looked him up one time. Yogi Berra was a major league baseball player for the New York Yankees. Phenomenal catcher. All-Stars, World Series, MVP, you name it. So good that the Yankees even retired his uniform number.”

Cas stared at him quizzically. “Dean, where are you going with this?”

Dean held up his hand to stop him. He stood up and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

“Thing is, these days that’s not even what he’s remembered for. People remember him because he used to say these… goofy things. ‘It ain’t over till it’s over.’ ‘If you don’t know where you’re going, you’ll end up someplace else.’ Stuff like that. 

“But there’s this one that’s really stuck with me, even after all this time. Because it sounded like it meant something, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what the hell it was.

“He said, ‘If you come to a fork in the road, take it.’”

Castiel was staring at him like he was crazy. And maybe he was.

Dean met his eyes. “But now, I think I finally understand. He was saying, if you come to a place where you have to make a choice, take the risk.

“Cas, the way I see it, you and I have come to a fork in the road. 

“And I don’t know about you, but I think we should take it.”

Dean closed the distance between them. Cupping Cas’s face in his hands, he met his eyes. Then he kissed him firmly, decisively, so there’d be no more misunderstandings, no mistaking Dean’s feelings for him.

He pulled away, and then he was kissing him again and Cas was kissing him back and then somehow Cas’s back was against the wall and his hands were in Dean’s hair and Dean’s arms were resting on the wall on either side of Cas and he was deepening the kiss…

And he had to stop before this went any further.

He reluctantly pulled away. Cas was flushed and breathless. 

Dean rested his forehead on Cas’s.

“I know I told you that I thought of you as a brother. But I lied. Because my feelings for you are far from brotherly.”

And then Dean’s back was against the wall and Cas was kissing him again. 

Dean groaned as Cas moved to place open-mouthed kisses on his throat. 

But someone had to be the voice of reason here, and it appeared Dean would have to be it.

The irony was not lost on him.

“Cas, are you sure about this?”

Castiel backed away far enough to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

And Dean knew he didn’t just mean in the kitchen or in the bunker, but on Earth. He’d got himself made human for this chance.

“What about you?” Cas asked.

“Hell yes.”

Loosening his tie, Cas leaned forward to kiss him again, and Dean stopped him.

“Do you really want to do this here?”

Castiel looked around the room, seemingly surprised by their surroundings. Dirty dishes, empty beer bottles, and an open first aid kit were still on the table; pizza boxes and leftover pie shared the countertop with Cas’s trench coat and suit jacket; heavy ceramic dog bowls for food and water were on the floor near the stove.

“Ah, no.”

Dean took his hand and led Castiel from the room and down the hall to a disused bedroom set up for guests, not that they’d had any for years.

They sat down on the foot of the bed, mood lost on the trip down the corridor from the kitchen. 

Hopefully only temporarily.

No nervous, inexperienced virgin—far, far from it, in fact—Dean had no experience with this. And his nervousness was headed off the charts. And Cas looked as nervous as Dean felt.

“This is all new to me,” Castiel admitted.

“New to me too. But you know what? We’ll figure it out.”

Dean leaned forward to kiss him.

It was awkward for a moment. 

And then it wasn’t. 

Desire, denied for a decade, took over. 

Dean deepened the kiss, opening his mouth, tongue urging Cas to do the same, and as Cas responded, he grabbed handfuls of Dean’s flannel shirt, keeping him close. Before he realized he’d done it, Dean had pulled Cas’s dress shirt free from his waistband, slipped his hands underneath and laid them flat on the warm, smooth skin of Cas’s back.

Then Dean pulled away. Cas stared at him in confusion, until Dean slipped off his shirt and grabbed the bottom of his tee shirt and pulled it over his head. Then awareness struck, and Cas struggled out of shirt and tie, fumbling with the buttons in his haste.

Shoes were untied and kicked away. Jeans, trousers, underpants and socks joined the growing pile of clothing on the floor. And then Castiel was lying on the bed, Dean on his hands and knees over him.

“Dean,” Castiel said, his voice wavering, “you are as beautiful outside as you are inside.”

Dean gave him a crooked grin. “You’re not hard on the eyes either.” Then his smile faltered. He leaned down to kiss him…

And then found himself flat on his back, looking up at Castiel, who was in an identical position to the one Dean himself had just been in. 

He blinked in surprise. “Okay, then.”

He hadn’t known what to expect, but whatever it was, this wasn’t it. He was usually the one in charge in situations like this, and having had more experience—far, far more experience—than Castiel, he’d assumed he would be now. Evidently not.

On the other hand, this was Cas. As an angel, he’d been a freaking force of nature; in a fight, he had always been every bit as aggressive as Dean. He really shouldn’t be surprised that, human or not, in this he’d be equally assertive.

Two alpha males. Together. This was going to be interesting.

Hell, it was freaking hot.

Dean rolled them so that they were lying side to side on the bed, chest to chest, legs intertwined, their erections trapped between them. For a moment, their eyes met, and then his eyes fell closed as he leaned forward and brushed Castiel’s lips with his, reveling in the feeling of holding and being held and wanting bare skin to touch bare skin as much as humanly possible.

This was more than just desire, this was skin hunger, a longing to touch and be touched.

Alone in the bunker in self-imposed isolation, he’d deprived himself of all but the most basic human contact for months, and had had none whatsoever for the last few weeks outside of a few texts from Sam. He couldn’t remember the last time his skin had touched another’s, not even in passing. The closest he’d come was the hug Sam had given him before he’d left for Texas. His body craved to be touched in a way that had nothing to do with sex.

Not that his body didn’t crave sex as well. The last time he’d had sex had been long enough ago that he couldn’t remember when it had been, or even who it had been with. This also wasn’t some nameless person he’d picked up in a bar in a town that he also couldn’t remember the name of. This was Castiel, whom he’d grieved for a year and still couldn’t quite believe was back. And who he wanted more than anyone he’d ever wanted in his life. Every cell in his body was screaming with want, a want that bordered on need to be closer and closer still, to somehow be one with him.

Castiel’s erection pressed urgently against his stomach, evidence of how much he wanted Dean as well. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the sensation was registered as unfamiliar, and then the thought was forgotten as Cas’s hands followed a path down his back and settled on his ass. At the same time, Cas pressed forward, tentatively thrusting his hips against Dean’s.

That was, that was good. 

But it wasn’t enough.

Dean shifted, twisting his hips, intentionally brushing his own erection against Cas’s. 

That was better.

He moved again, gritting his teeth as he thrust forward, grinding against Castiel. 

Oh, yeah, that was definitely better.

His last coherent thought was how incredible it felt, feeling Cas’s dick rubbing against his own.

Then Cas moaned and Dean’s brain shorted out.

And then they were moving together, desperately touching, kissing, grasping, thrusting, over and over and over. It was too fast; he’d wanted this to last longer, but his body’s overwhelming need for release won out.

After one last thrust, his back arched backwards and he cried out, his orgasm exploding violently and coursing through his whole body. 

Only allowing himself a moment to recover, Dean reached between them and grabbed hold of Cas.

Castiel gasped; his eyes opened wide with the shock of the sudden touch, then with a groan, they grew glassy and unfocused. Panting, he thrust into Dean’s hand.

And then he was coming, Dean’s name on his lips.

As they both gasped for air, Dean rolled off of him. He stared at the ceiling as his heartrate slowed. 

“It’ll be better next time. I promise.”

Castiel was still trying to catch his breath. “I don’t know how it could be. That was…” He gestured vaguely with one hand before dropping it back to the bed. “I don’t know the word for it. I’m not sure there is one.” He turned his head to face Dean. “Wasn’t it good for you?”

“Hell, yes, it was good,” Dean told him. And it had been; he could still feel his skin tingling. “It was frigging fantastic. Just a little fast. Not that fast isn’t good, fast can be great, but going off fast when you want to be slow, that’s not good.”

“I’ll try to remember that for future reference.”

Dean laughed. “You do that.”

Castiel snuggled into his side, and Dean pulled the covers over them both. It should have felt odd, being naked in bed with Cas, having just had mind blowing sex with him, but what was odd was that it didn’t feel odd. After so many years being friends and at the same time tiptoeing around this and pretending it didn’t exist, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Not one for deep conversations in any situation, Dean had never been one for pillow talk. He’d never really understood the point of it. You had sex, then you slept. End of story.

But now he understood why people did it. It was far more intimate than talking over dinner or while riding in the car. And he realized that with Castiel, he wanted it, craved the intimacy of it, just as much as he did the sex.

So they talked. About the year that Cas had missed. About Sam, and how happy Dean was that Sam was finally getting the normal life that he’d wanted as a kid. About his friendship with Bobby, which was close but would never truly be the same as with the Bobby Singer who’d helped raise him. And about many of the other hunters they’d both known along the way, and how they all seemed to be adjusting to normal life after the end of the nightmare Chuck had created. And how much he missed his mom, but that he understood why she’d chosen to stay with his father rather than return to life on Earth. 

And the fact that Dean had lied to Cas about the previous year.

“It wasn’t good; in fact, it sucked. But honestly, I don’t remember a lot of it. I spent most of it plastered, so I wouldn’t have to face the fact that you were dead.”

And they talked about Castiel, how he believed making him human had been Jack’s last intervention on Earth. About how he felt his decision to ask to be made human had been the easiest decision he’d ever made in his entire life, and given how old he was, that was saying something. Although being human was different than he’d expected it to be.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Well, having spent time as a human before, I thought I knew what it would be like. But it’s more. Everything is more intense. And it’s not just the sex. Colors are more vibrant. Food tastes better. The sheets feel softer against my skin. My feelings for you are so strong I find they are almost overwhelming now. It’s as if before, I was still just an angel playing at being a human. All my senses were muffled. But now, truly being human, I realize I had no idea what I’d been missing.”

And then later…

“I should buy that book I saw,” Castiel said thoughtfully.

“I’ll bite. What book?”

“The Joy of Gay Sex.”

Dean almost fell off the bed.

“When…” The word came out a full octave higher than it usually would have. He cleared his throat and tried to speak in his normal range. “I know I’m going to regret this, but when did you see that book?”

“When we were in San Francisco.”

“When were we in San Francisco?”

“When we were seeking the Heart of the Dragon.”

Dean searched his memories. “But that must have been… ten years ago.”

“Yes.” 

“Okay, let me get this straight. We were in the middle of a job in the middle of the freaking Apocalypse… and you took a break to look for a book on gay sex?”

“No, of course not. We were canvassing the areas near Chinatown, and I saw it in a used bookstore while I was questioning the staff.”

“You just happened to spot a book on gay sex while questioning the store clerks.”

“No. While I was talking to the staff, I saw that the bookstore had an entire section on sexual intimacy. You had taken me to a brothel…”

“Which was a complete disaster, and the funniest thing in my life…”

“And I was curious as to what all the fuss was about. I was surprised there were so many instruction manuals on the subject.”

“But the one you picked up was the one on gay sex.”

“Yes.”

“So that long ago you were thinking about…”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Dean.”

Then later…

“Tell me something, Dean,” Castiel said. “Why are we here?”

Dean craned his neck to look down at him. “What, like from a metaphysical perspective, or why are here in bed? Because if it’s the first, as a former angel I would think you’d be better at answering that, but if it’s the second, based on what we were doing earlier, I‘d think that’d be obvious.”

“Neither. I just wanted to know why we’re in this room rather than yours.”

Dean laughed. “Oh. Because Miracle has been known to sleep on my bed, has even learned how to open the door when it’s closed, and I didn’t want an audience during or company after. But mostly because, even if I locked the door to keep him out… Dog hair. Everywhere.”

“Ahh.”

And even later…

“Holy crap,” Dean said as soon as he could manage to talk. He took deep breaths in an attempt to slow his heart rate. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

“Pay per view,” Castiel told him.

Dean stared at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I found that particular movie… enlightening.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief. “And Sam says television isn’t educational.” Then he grinned. “Let me see if I can do that too…”

Later still…

“Cas, if things were different, do you think we would’ve ended up here if you were still an angel?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I’d like to say yes, but honestly, I don’t know either.” 

Castiel was silent for a few moments.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Being with you, this is such unfamiliar territory for me.” 

“Tell me about it. But Cas, you’re still you, and I’m still me. We’re still us, the same people we’ve always been. Things don’t have to get weird between us now.”

“You mean because we’ve had sex.”

“Same old Cas, cuts straight to the chase. Yeah, because we had sex. And with any kind of luck, we’ll have a whole lot more of it. But we’re still us. I don’t know about you, but I’m not into violin music, and I only use candles when the power goes out.” At the puzzlement on Castiel’s face, he continued. “I mean, we don’t have to do the whole flowers and chocolate thing.”

Castiel still looked baffled. “I don’t know. I’m not exactly sure what the ‘whole flowers and chocolate thing’ is, but the chocolate part sounds good.”

Dean burst out laughing. “All right, I’ll buy you some chocolate.”

“You know, Dean, I’ve never been able to understand why giving dead plants to someone would be considered a sign of one’s affection for their partner.”

“Me neither.”

“Would you like me to buy you some flowers?” 

“Nah, I’m good.”

Finally…

“Cas, about what you said… before you, you know, bought it.”

“I meant it. Every word of it.”

“I know. I know you did. I just… I didn’t…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know.”

A wave of relief coursed through him. Words, important words, meaningful words, had always been difficult for him. And Cas had given him an out.

But he shouldn’t get an out. This was way too important. 

He shook his head.

“No. You deserve to hear it, and I need to say it. I love you, Cas. Have for a long time now. Took me way longer than it should have to admit it—even to myself—because it said something about me that I wasn’t ready to accept yet.”

“Why weren’t you ready to accept it? Were you… are you… ashamed of it?”

Because it was Castiel and not someone else, Dean knew that the question was a completely innocent one and came from simple curiosity. At the same time, though, there was another unspoken question underneath it, one that also had to be answered.

Dean sat up, triggering Castiel to sit up too. Dean looked him straight in the eye.

“No!” he said vehemently. “No. I’m not ashamed of being bisexual, not ashamed of my feelings for you, not ashamed of any of this. Just… surprised, okay? Always thought of myself as a bit of a ladies’ man. Never been attracted to another man before. Had to totally change my view of myself. Complete paradigm shift. Took a lot for me to admit to myself that I’m bisexual. And in some ways, I still can’t wrap my head around it, ‘cause I’m still not attracted to other men. Just you.” Then he grinned. “Guess instead of bisexual, I’m _Cas_ -sexual.”

Cas smiled, then frowned thoughtfully. “Guess that makes me Dean-sexual then.”

Dean snorted. “Dean-sexual, huh?” He lay back down on the bed and pulled Cas with him. “I like the sound of that.”

Castiel chuckled. “I like it too.”

“Well, if I’m Cas-sexual and you’re Dean-sexual, I think we need to do something about it.”

“Absolutely.”

Dean let out a huge yawn. “But tomorrow. I’m exhausted. I don’t know about you, but I need some sleep.”

Yawning himself, Castiel nodded. “Me too.”

Dean smiled. Cas sounded half asleep already.

He closed his eyes. “I love you, Cas.”

And as he fell asleep, he heard Castiel say, “I love you, too, Dean.”

\---

_“Don’t do this, Cas.”_

_The Empty stretched its inky blackness further into the room. Bit by bit, it wrapped itself around Castiel, slowly creeping up his body._

_Dean tried to reach him, tried to pull him back… but he couldn’t move. Frozen in place, he could only watch in horror as the Empty inched up, over shoulders and neck and head until only Cas’s face was visible._

_And then he was gone._

_“Cas!”_

His heart threatening to pound out of his chest, breathing as hard as if he’d sprinted a mile, Dean’s eyes flew open. His mind fought the return to consciousness, still clinging to the tendrils of the familiar nightmare. It was always the same, every damn time: Cas professing his love, enticing the Empty to come and take him; Dean always frozen in place, unable to stop the events unfolding in front of him. 

And every single damn time, the nightmare would take hold and refuse to let go, haunt him all his waking hours until he managed to get drunk enough to forget the look on Cas’s face as he died.

Still half asleep, he replayed the dream over in his mind, hoping this time he wouldn’t have to go on a week-long bender to take the edge off the pain. It always started the same, as it had in real life, with Billie chasing him, trying to kill him…

No. That was wrong. This time it had been different. It had ended the same way it always did, with Dean paralyzed, unable to save Cas, but it had begun differently. It hadn’t started out as a nightmare at all. Castiel had been here, but instead of running for their lives, they’d indulged in some highly erotic activities.

A sex dream with Cas. That was new.

Well, not all that new.

He sat up in bed. The room’s empty walls were barely visible in the dim light filtering in through the grate in the door.

Something was different.

His hunter’s instincts flared to life.

He was in the bunker. 

But it was wrong somehow.

It was the walls. The walls of his room were empty; all the weapons he had displayed there were missing.

“What the…”

Nerves already on edge, the sound of movement next to him startled him. He instinctively reached for the knife he kept on his nightstand.

Which wasn’t there.

Because for some reason he wasn’t in his own room.

And then, the adrenaline rush forcing him to become fully awake, memories of the previous night slammed into him like a Mack truck going ninety. His eyes widened.

He looked at the other side of the bed. The other, occupied side of the bed. 

“It wasn’t a dream,” he whispered.

Cas was really here.

Castiel shifted again, his mouth slightly open, his dark hair a mess against the pillow, a look of utter contentment on his face. In his sleep his normally careworn face looked heartbreakingly young, and as innocent as the angel he had been and no longer was.

Cas really was here.

What’s more, they’d finally taken the plunge. Crossed the Rubicon. Dealt with the elephant in the room. 

Taken the fork in the road.

Thank God.

Thank… Jack.

It was frightening how close they’d come to not having this. It had taken Jack’s direct intervention for them to get to this point. Jack had pulled Castiel from the Empty and then he’d turned him human so Cas could return to Earth. 

Actually, now that he thought about it, Jack’s fingerprints were all over a lot more than that. Cas said that Jack had probably had his reasons for sending him back a year late, and now Dean thought he knew what they were. It had taken him losing Cas, and losing himself in his grief over the course of the past year, before he’d finally gotten his head out of his ass. 

Dean snorted at the irony. He’d had to lose him in order for them to have this.

Even Sam’s absence had played a part. If he hadn’t gotten that job in Texas—with the credentials Jack had supplied—and was still living in the bunker with him, Dean doubted he’d have made a move when Cas came back. 

No. If he was brutally honest with himself, he knew he wouldn’t have. 

And if he hadn’t made a move now, he and Castiel would certainly have fallen back into their old familiar roles, that of best friends, the possibility of something more between them forever lost. Dean could scarcely bear thinking about that, particularly now that he knew what it was like for them to be together.

Castiel started to quietly snore, and Dean smiled, his heart so bursting with love for him that it was painful. He swallowed hard, trying unsuccessfully to control his emotions. And if it was tears that he wiped from his cheeks, that was no one’s business but his own.

He lay back down. Trying very hard not to wake Cas, Dean wrapped his arms around him. Castiel snuggled closer, whispering his name.

They almost hadn’t had this.

Dean closed his eyes and concentrated.

“Thank you,” he whispered, hoping the prayer went higher than the ceiling.

And deep in his soul, he felt the quiet stillness and peace Sam had described.

And as Dean drifted back to sleep, he smiled.


	4. Epilogue - Don't You Cry No More

Dean threw his duffel bag into the Impala’s trunk. It made an oddly hollow sound as it landed, despite the compartment underneath being as full as it’d ever been. It was still warded with sigils, still held all the contents it always had: shotguns, hunting knives, holy water, shells filled with rock salt, and dozens of other things he and Sam had found useful after monster hunting for most of their lives.

Castiel said none of it was necessary anymore—the monsters were all gone and if there were any demons left, they were locked in hell—but Dean didn’t necessarily believe it. Locks were made to be broken. Jack’s new helpers could rebel. And even if the monsters were all gone now—and as much as he hoped that was true, he still couldn’t quite believe it—it didn’t mean they couldn’t come back. If even a single demon escaped, if a single “helper” fell, there was a chance that the nightmare—of monsters and demon possession, or of war between heaven and hell using Earth as the battleground—could start all over again. And if it did, he was going to be prepared. 

After all, he had a helluva lot more to lose now than he ever had before.

It had been several weeks since Castiel’s return, and they had spent most of it getting used to the change in their relationship. Not to mention enjoying one particular aspect of that change. Repeatedly. (Dean’s face was beginning to hurt from the smirk he got every time he thought about it.)

But he hadn’t told anyone Castiel was back yet. If Dean wanted Cas all to himself for a while before letting everyone else know he was back, that was no one’s business but theirs.

Castiel threw an identical duffel next to Dean’s. It was filled with the clothes Dean had insisted he get, purchased while Dean was at the barber shop. Before his shopping spree in Lebanon, Dean had had to remind him that since he was now human, there was a reason he needed to change his clothes on a regular basis. There was a small toiletries kit tucked into the duffel for much the same reason.

_“You’ve been human before, Cas.”_

_“But not for an extended length of time. Being human is very complicated.”_

_Dean snorted. “Tell me about it.”_

Dean slammed the trunk shut. He’d spent three solid days cleaning the Impala: tuning up her engine, detailing her, waxing her until he could see his reflection in her hood. It was the least he could do to make it up to Baby for neglecting her so much recently.

Miracle had had a makeover as well. Not only had he been bathed, he was now free of the mats that had formed on his neck and hindquarters due to Dean’s neglect. He’d even had his teeth descaled and his nails trimmed. Dean had suggested taking him to the dog groomer, but Castiel had taken on the task himself. He’d said it was because he didn’t have anything better to do while Dean worked on the Impala, but he wasn’t fooling Dean. Cas adored the dog and couldn’t bear the thought of a stranger grooming him.

As Castiel rounded the car to the passenger’s side, Dean opened the back door and whistled. Miracle didn’t budge from his spot sitting next to the driver’s side rear tire. The dog looked at Castiel and then back at Dean, clearly torn.

Dean raised his eyebrows and pointed. “Back seat.”

Miracle reluctantly jumped in the back, this time without even being prompted to by Cas. Dean decided to take the win. 

Dean closed the door, certain that the dog would eventually end up in the front seat with them anyway. Still, it was important to at least make a token effort to get Miracle to ride in the back, if for no other reason that it was easier to talk to Castiel if he didn’t have to talk over Miracle’s furry head. Plus, every time they let him ride in front, dog and former angel would engage in a love fest that was almost embarrassing. 

No, he wasn’t jealous. Not at all.

Dean slipped into the Impala’s driver seat.

“When you called Sam, did you tell him about me?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head. “Nah. I want it to be a surprise. He’ll find out you’re back when he sees you. And as far as the rest, I’m not going to tell him. Sam’s not stupid. I won’t need to. 

“And I really want to see the look on his face when he figures it out.” 

Castiel slowly smiled. “Me too.” 

He smiled a lot these days, far more than he ever had as an angel. It was a good look on him.

“And then what do we do after we see Sam and Eileen?” 

“After that…” As he gunned the engine, Dean winked at Castiel and grinned. “For the first time in our lives, Cas, we do whatever the hell we want.”


End file.
